


Have I been too denying of you?

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Gen, I'll tag it anyway hdgghj., Sorry @ Monet for doing this to you., WOAh nothing happens in this, but it's not quite introspective enough to be a full study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: Doflamingo’s curled over himself in one of Dressrosa’s lofty windows, sunlight slanting pure white over his frame through between the delicate latticework.(a scene)
Relationships: Donquixote Doflamingo & Monet, Donquixote Doflamingo/Monet, Not ... really? Kinda.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Have I been too denying of you?

Doflamingo’s curled over himself in one of Dressrosa’s lofty windows, sunlight slanting pure white over his frame through between the delicate latticework. Ankles joined and knees apart with elbows braced on the joints, head bobbing absently in sleep and drooping low to be cradled in the net of his hands, fingers stretching long and languid across spiked hair to press it flat to his scalp. Monet watches, silent, waits for the telltale flutter of white lashes over high cheeks, the edge of a smile. His knuckles twitch over his crown, and Monet watches his mouth part (slow, so slow, pink tongue and white teeth) from beneath the arch of his knee, where he peers down at the woman. 

It’s a stake through the chest, the ice that spikes through her at the sight of lidded blue eyes, colored with the heart of a glacier. He makes a show of sliding his elbow, rumpling one hand beneath the other as it moves over his head, before flicking out his index and middle fingers to cast a long shadow over the side of his face. Thread whirs from somewhere, angled  _ just so  _ to catch the light in single, gleaming lines, a haphazard staircase leading up the wall. Monet knows how to place her feet as she’s asked, toes pointed down and eyes up. 

“Young Master,” she smiles, something pleasant and warm and fraternal, easily taking up the space he’s left for her at the other end of the window. She tucks her knees up to press against her chest, looping her arms daintily around them. He’s still hunched over, but he lifts his head for her, teeth bared in a manic grin. His leg around the outside edge stretches long, lolling off the sill before reaching across to press his sole flat against the wall. He’s still outrageously tall, of course, so his leg is crooked, the same glaring bar across Monet’s face as had sheltered his moments ago. She’s captivated somehow, breath coming in a quick gasp and golden eyes wide in contrast to rapidly shrinking pupils, predatory gaze fixed on the lazy grin and sharp eyes--lidded with the ghosts of sleep, but ever-lucid and bright. She wants to chastise herself. 

He reaches across again, with his hands this time, pressing Monet’s glasses up the bridge of her nose, obscuring her stare in their swirl. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, smile soft and absent as if he’s elsewhere, even when his gaze remains so steadfast. 

She gives her lips a pensive pass-over with her tongue, tucking her knees up and resting her chin on them, skirt tucking to press between her inner thigh and calf. “Will you?” 

He grins wide in return, leveling her with that electric stare, “Of course.”  _ Will you miss me? _

She closes her eyes, lets the sunlight and warmed glass leach into her skin. 

* * *

“I’m trusting you,” Doflamingo’s tongue snakes from his mouth, curling up grotesquely in a single stroke before retreating into the cavern of his grin. His hand on Monet’s shoulder is impossibly wide and the weight of it makes her shudder, bring her own hand up to stroke over the ridges of vein and bone, her fingers coming together in soothing points. 

He grins and uses another hand to brush her hair back, tucking it securely behind her ear, and tilt her head toward the horizon, still fingering a few loose strands.

_“Are you really?”_ _she wants to ask, that grip going tight to sear pain up along her scalp. “Because it feels like...”_

He leans down, pressing a kiss to her temple, right where he’s got the tension along her head with his loose hold on the silky fronds of her hair. Not even in her thoughts does she stray from the family line, and it makes her chuckle a little. 

“Thank you, Doffy.” she leans into the touch, the easy swing of the laughter as it rises in her chest. It carries her down the harbor, past the shores of Dressrosa and out into the sea. 

**Author's Note:**

> Cannibalized what was supposed to be a larger piece that I thought was too ambitious so this is like jcghvd OLD and if it feels incomplete . it is. Will probably slice up and clean the rest and throw them in a collection for closure but like. oughhhdijhg the written word is inherently sinful. This being Big Number 50 on my account is also sooo shitty dhcgf. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you'd like, I suppose? 
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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